People say that past 10pm is an anti-social time. Up until about 6am. But I believe I have found an hour, or perhaps just a collection of minutes that is even more antisocial than that.
It is 8.40pm.
At 8.40pm commuters have had their dinner. They are on the sofa by this point, catching up on a box set. The pub goers are seated and being watered as we speak, shrouded in conversations about how weird it is to be back in a bar even though they’re not sure if they really mean it because something about all this is unsettlingly normal. At 8.40 they haven’t even started thinking about going home yet. Give it about 40 minutes.
8.40 is a kind of no mans land. It’s a little too late for working, too early for the ones out late, by these days standards at least. So at 8.40 I stand on the empty platform on my way back from the pub wondering what the hell is everyone up to.